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Her friends tried to pretend that they weren’t, but she knew they were constantly watching her lately. Since the accident, they all worried about her, and she was desperate not to show any sign of fear around them.
But her heart raced as she climbed in behind the wheel and started the engine. The memory of that night going off the road on the curvy, winding stretch of coastal highway was never too far from her mind.
It’s only eight blocks and four minutes to the office.
Eight blocks and four minutes later, Whitney breathed a sigh of relief as she pulled into the parking lot in front of the tourism office and slid her sunglasses to the top of her head. Opening her purse, she retrieved her concealer and lowered the mirrored visor. The darkness under her eyes was getting harder to hide. She dabbed the light concealer onto her finger and reapplied it beneath her lower lashes, blending it in with her slightly darker tanned skin.
She grabbed her coffee from that morning from the console and got out of the car, forcing her legs forward.
What she really wanted was a nap, but if she gave in to that craving and fell asleep, she wasn’t sure she’d ever wake up.
Seeing Scott Rodale’s Escalade in the parking lot, she picked up her pace. The mayor’s son was back in Blue Moon Bay after finishing his master’s degree in business at UCLA. He was currently working as her assistant, but Whitney knew he’d specialized in communications. Scott was smart, a real go-getter, and he was a fast learner. The nagging sensation that her job could be on the line only fueled Whitney to work harder.
“How was lunch?” Kim Digby, the office receptionist, asked as Whitney entered the office. Fall-colored, leaf-shaped garland entwined with orange lights hung from the desk, and a plastic pumpkin sat on top. The distinct smell of pumpkin spice lingered on the air from Kim’s scented candles she liked to burn when no one was around.
“Lunch was good, thanks.” If her lukewarm third coffee of the day and half a muffin counted as lunch. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten anything substantial. The night before? No, she’d been at the office past nine, and she refused to eat after eight. Lunch the day before? Nope.
But who had time to eat when there was always work to do, emails to respond to, calls to make?
Her workload was a challenge when tourism was steady. Lack of it in recent months made it even more so, as she was constantly striving to find new ideas to bring people to town.
Down the hall, through the open blinds in the office window, she saw Scott in his mother’s office. Door closed.
They could just be having lunch. Discussing family stuff. Not executing Scott’s plan to steal my job out from under me.
Still, instead of rushing off into her own office, she lingered a beat at the reception desk. “Did you finish that episode ofLove in the Books?” she asked Kim. The latest reality show that had everyone talking was about a group of romance authors battling it out for a publishing contract. Who knew watching people write would be so fascinating?
Kim looked slightly surprised at the attempt at chitchat as she pointed to Netflix paused on her computer screen. “I’m addicted. I’m going to lose my job. Thank you for telling me about this show,” she said.
Whitney forced a laugh. “You’re the mayor’s niece—I think you’re safe.”
Unlike me.
Whitney was a graduate of an online marketing course she’d taken part-time while holding down three jobs, a non–family member of the mayor’s who could and would be replaced if she didn’t continue to give 110 percent every day. She was lucky that Mayor Rodale had taken a chance on her, and in the last seven years, she’d refused to allow her boss any opportunity to second-guess that decision. She swallowed her unease. “Any calls?”
“Messages are on your desk.”
“Thanks.” Whitney walked into her office and closed the door.
Brilliant rays of midday sun shone through the large ceiling-to-floor window, warming the space. She adjusted her air-conditioning before sitting at her desk. Removing her shoes, she wiggled her toes, trying to regain circulation in her swollen feet. The usual icing hadn’t been helping the last few days. By tomorrow, she’d be wearing flats.
She forced a breath. It could be worse. So much worse.
But anything that slowed her down annoyed her. She needed this job now more than ever. The cost of Rejuvenation, her mother’s living facility, was a large expense every month, and there was no way Whitney would consider moving her to a more affordable home. No other job in town would pay her as much without a degree.
Like Scott’s.
She flicked through the messages on her desk—two from local photographers following up on the quotes they’d provided to contract next year’s Blue Moon Bay tourism calendar, one from a local artist hoping to showcase their work in the Winter Art Walk… She stopped at one from Rejuvenation. Her mother was refusing her Alzheimer’s meds again.
Her mother could be so stubborn about it sometimes. Just the day before, Whitney had explained to her how important they were to take. And in her lucid state, her mother agreed. But during her more confusing times, she was more difficult to reason with.
Though forcing medication on her mother made Whitney feel like a hypocrite.
She continued going through the messages, seeing one from Trent. She knew why he was calling. He’d texted her as well. He wanted to confirm their appointment at the jeweler’s that evening to pick out their wedding bands. At five o’clock, she’d be sending a “Sorry, got stuck at the office” text. He was pushing for a wedding date, hoping these trips to the jeweler’s, bridal shops, and flower shops would get her in the planning mood faster.
She stared at the picture of the two of them on her desk. Their first date, taken at the local pumpkin patch. It had been a favorite tradition of hers every year as a child with her parents, but it had been Trent’s first time there. It had quickly become their new tradition. They’d gone every year the last seven years…except last year when she’d been too busy to take the time off to go.
Seven years together.
